


A Quite Invaluable Companion

by Lacquiparle



Category: Broadchurch
Genre: Crack, Established Relationship, F/M, Fluff and Crack, Halloween, Halloween Costumes, Silly
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-26
Updated: 2020-10-26
Packaged: 2021-03-08 18:53:56
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,044
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27211519
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lacquiparle/pseuds/Lacquiparle
Summary: Halloween arrives in Broadchurch, which means Hardy is in a sour mood.(pure silly crack)
Relationships: Alec Hardy/Ellie Miller
Kudos: 45





	A Quite Invaluable Companion

**Author's Note:**

> Many thanks to several tumblr users who helped me, a foolish American, with Halloween traditions in England.
> 
> If you would like me to mention your tumblr handle, just let me know. :)

Hardy hated Halloween. He hated the costumes and the children pawing at his door for candy. He hated the parties. Oh, he especially hated the parties and seeing his workmates drunkenly hobble home from the bars. 

He hated the ghouls and the goblins. 

So, it didn’t surprise him when Miller showed up one chilly autumn day, her rosy chipper self, and informed him that they were going shopping for wee Freddy’s Halloween costume.

“A costume? For wee Fred?” He rolled his fingers through his hair several times, standing it up on end as he tried to reconcile the two thoughts. How was he getting dragged into this? What did buying a costume for a toddler entail? He and Tess took Daisy trick-or-treating one year and his daughter insisted on dressing up as a pirate—probably from that awful movie, Hardy thought—and then after that Hardy refused to go. 

No more costumes. No more candy. No more Halloween. 

“Yes. Tom informed me that he’s too old for a costume this year,” she said, rolling her eyes in exasperation. “Last year, Fred was a dinosaur! Weren’t you, Freddy?” She smiled, grabbing and tickling the boy who giggled loudly. “I’m not sure what we’re going as this year. One year he was a pea in the pod. So cute!”

Hardy coughed and swallowed at the same time, nearly choking on his own spit. “ _We’re_.” 

“That’s right,” Miller added matter-of-factly, as though Hardy never had any say in the subject. “We always dress up for Halloween and go trick-or-treating. Beth’ll be around with Lizzie so it’ll be the lot of us.”

The subject was promptly dropped, and Hardy was left standing at the door to ruminate on this new horror of horrors. Hardy knew that once he started dating Miller, he faced new obstacles such as her friends’ apprehensions, their respective jobs, and Miller’s own anxieties about trust. But never in his wildest dreams did it occur to him that he might have to dress up as the Teletubbies and parade around Broadchurch in front of Nige and Mark. 

The thought made him sick and he worried his pacemaker might break. 

“What if I die?” he asked, pushing Fred along in the trolley. Fred was squirming in the trolley, trying to get at the flashing lights and candy. “Could give anyone a seizure,” Hardy muttered under his breath.

“Oh, don’t be daft, you’re not going to die.” She was looking at some awful ornate costume with bells and whistles that required batteries. She put it up to Hardy, paused, shook her head no, and shoved it back amidst the scattered costumes. “It’ll be fun! You’ll see.” 

“Oh!” Fred nearly toppled right onto his head before Hardy grabbed him, sitting him upright. “You like all of this twinkly stuff, doncha ya?” Fred clapped his hands and indicated for Hardy to pick him up. 

By this point, Miller had turned the corner and was enshrouded in fabric and gauze of every kind, mumbling to herself about “matching costumes.” Hardy had picked up Fred, attempting to navigate the turn toward Miller with one toddler and one trolley, when he ran smack dab into a gruesome and bloody mask before backing right into some poor elderly pedestrian. 

“Watch where you’re going!” the old woman shouted, peddling along, bickering something about “kids these days.”

The trolley went rolling and Fred squealed with delight as Hardy jostled the tyke to maintain his composure and sure footedness. Sure, Hardy wouldn’t die, Miller said, nothing bad would happen, she said. Halloween is fun! Hardy nearly stormed in the opposite direction to find Miller so he could give her a good talking to, when he noticed she was holding up a hideous, banana colored costume with that twinkle in her. 

“No, absolutely bloody no,” was all he said, Fred resting precariously in his forearms. 

“It will be fun!”

“You said that already, and Fred and me nearly killed some old lady.”

“You what,” she said incredulously like _he_ was the bad parent. She should already know she was over here, picking up ridiculous costumes and having a grand old time. 

“No, no, I put my foot down.”

“Where’s the trolley?”

Hardy sighed and rearranged Fred so he was a bit more stable in his arms. “It got away from us.”

Miller looked confused but persisted. “Hardy, I never ask for anything.” Hardy narrowed his eyebrows. “Just this once? Please?” 

It was true that she didn’t ask for anything unless they were fighting and she could be bloody difficult, but even then, she didn’t ask for much. He looked at the costume. Oh, it was horrendous. Vile even.

“What do you think, Freddy?” she asked. Fred grabbed it and gestured that he wanted it, which sealed the deal. 

Hardy grumbled and groaned, but sighed and pulled out his wallet. 

The closer to Halloween, the more Hardy began to feel the simmering pangs of dread in the pit of his stomach. That infernal lemony colored costume appeared to him in his nightmares, its Cyclops eye staring him down until he confessed to some crime he had certainly never committed. 

Miller found him gasping at the edge of the bed, clutching at his heart.

“I can’t wear that godforsaken costume,” he gasped. 

“That’s what this is all about? A ridiculous costume?” She huffed and rolled back over. “Tell that to Freddy.” He heard her from the other side of the bed underneath the duvet. 

He sighed and tugged the blanket hard against him. She groaned and tugged it even harder. _Over a ridiculous costume_. 

It didn’t help that their current case involved a missing pony and an angry farmer who routinely called at four in the morning, leaving near deranged messages about calling the police.

“Sir,” Hardy said for the umpteenth time, returning the man’s phone call at a respectable hour and swiveling his chair, “I _am_ the police.” He was pinching the bridge of his nose again; he was certain it was some unfair teenage prank and the pony would most likely show up sometime around Halloween. “I can assure you that we will find your pony.” 

“Is it that farmer again, er, Mr. Grey?” Miller was looking through some files, leaning against the frame of Hardy’s office door, wearing some obnoxious Halloween jumper that Hardy had no desire to look upon now.

“Don’t remind me.” Squinting, Hardy scanned his computer. “Daisy wanted a pony when she was wee.” 

“Did you get her one?”

“Of course not. Too dangerous and too expensive.” 

Miller made a noise. 

“Don’t say anything,” he added, not even looking up from his computer. “And don’t remind me about tomorrow.” His gaze met her wicked one. “I don’t want to think about that _bloody_ costume.” 

Sometime in the night, Farmer Grey’s pony turned up unscathed and Miller rolled over, pushing Hardy’s hair away from his face. At night, their relationship was different, the tension recoiling and needing into bare life. 

“Are you truly that upset about dressing up?” She asked him in the darkness. 

Hardy’s eyes weren’t open, but he grunted and repositioned his head on the pillow. 

“Yeah?”

“’ll be ‘right.” 

“I don’t want you to complain and be irritable the whole time.”

One eye peeped open and peered at her, sleep still nestling about his eyes. He wiped it away and she smiled. He could see the outline of her wily curls against the darkness. 

“You drive me batty sometimes,” he groaned. 

“Who doesn’t?”

“I don’t mind dressing up for Freddy.”

“What about for me?”

“Oh, this is for you now, is it?”

She leaned over and pressed her lips against his. “I haven’t brushed my teeth.”

“I can tell.”

“Oi!” she cried, tossing him aside, but he pulled her body against him, and she felt for his skin under his shirt. 

It wasn’t too late just yet. 

Halloween was a revered celebration in Broadchurch with throngs of children dressing up in macabre costumes to go trick-or-treating and several parties taking place at the Traders. Various people from CID, including Dirty Brian, Bob, Hartford, and maybe even Jenkinson (according to Dirty Brian) were all going out to the Traders later that night for a “spooky good time.” 

“What does that even mean? How is that different from any other time?” Hardy asked, looking up at Miller, who was sauntering into his office.

“Bobbing for apples, maybe?”

“Don’t expect me to go. After we get Fred home, put him to bed, and check in on Tom, we’ll both be knackered from a long night.” Hardy rubbed his face vigorously for some time but noticed that Miller was suspiciously quiet. When he peered over at her sitting on the edge of his desk, she was absentmindedly—or suspiciously—reading a sticky note. “What did you do?” His brogue always became stronger when he was irritated, frustrated, or angry, which were essentially the same thing for a normal person, but Hardy was no normal person. 

“I didn’t really do anything.” She looked directly at him, pushing the sticky note down firmly on his desk. “And besides, we can just briefly stop in and go as ourselves or tell people we’re Scully and Mulder, which means we don’t have to change clothes.” 

“Sometimes I find that it is very difficult to love you.”

“Oh, don’t say that,” Miller smiled him her cheeky grin. She peaked over her shoulder and deduced no one was in sight, leaned down, and pecked him on the lips. When she stood up straight, she continued, “there is a surprise in store for you, but I can’t say any more than that. You have been wonderful through all of this and I owe you, Hardy.” 

When Hardy arrived home by four, he found Miller in a discussion with Tom who had conveniently not told his mum that he had already made plans that evening. Miller quickly caught Hardy up to speed, informing him that Tom had promised his friends that they would go around the neighborhood for candy, spend the night at Billy’s and play video games. 

“Come on, mum, it’s Billy! You know his parents.”

“That’s not the point,” Miller contradicted, attempting to grab Fred and the hideous yellow contraption that she was trying to wrangle him into. “You should have asked. Come around with us and then you can go over to your friend’s house.” 

Tom made a face, gesturing toward the yellow apparatus that Miller was trying to force one of Fred’s legs into. “Do I have to wear one of those?”

“We don’t have an extra.”

Then Hardy decided it was his time to shine and offer as much selflessness as he could feasibly administer given the present moment. “Oh, Tom can take mine! It would only make sense, given how much I know the three of you love Halloween and dressing up and…”

Miller shot him a look. “You think you’re getting out of the costume that quickly, yeah?” Tom laughed. 

“Mum knows what she’s doing when it comes to Halloween and costumes.” 

“Take yourself upstairs, change, and you’re coming around with us. Then you can go over to Billy’s.” Miller shouted before Tom ran upstairs. “And both of you can help me with Freddy!”

Once they were all dressed and the house wasn’t destroyed too much, they all unanimously agreed that Fred looked truly adorable in his wee Minion costume. All of them gave him a round of applause before letting him run around the house screaming. 

“Between the screaming and the sugar, we’re in for a night.” Miller said. “I like your eye.”

“Ta, I think?” Hardy said. He looked himself over in the mirror. He’d never really liked Halloween and this holiday season might go down as one of the weirdest. His Minion costume, with the one eye glaring back at him, accentuated his skinny frame and long torso. He looked over at Miller who was tying her trainers. She at least had the good sense to go for the costume with two eyes. 

Tom bounded down the stairs in jeans, jumper, trainers, and several sacks for candy, and took one long look at his family. “Nice, mum.”

“Oh, don’t be daft.” She grabbed the sack for Freddy and began pushing everyone out the door. “Come around with us for a bit, then you can go on with your friends.” 

“Ta, mum.”

“Remember, I love you more than chocolate. And it’s Halloween, you know.” Outside, she kissed her eldest on the forehead and ruffled his hair just for good measure. Tom took Fred’s hand and the newly finagled Miller-Hardy clan began walking, looking out for the Latimers.

“I was thinking that next year we could go as Harry Potter characters?” Miller offered, taking the hand Hardy offered. 

“If you even survive this Halloween, oh, hello, Beth,” Hardy said greeting Beth, Daisy, and little Lizzie who was cheerily dressed as a strawberry. Beth and Chloe had foregone the costumes and instead were dressed in their civvies. 

Beth and Miller greeted each other, Beth inquiring about the “deranged costumes” and what had possibly gotten in her best friend’s head? 

“Listen, El, I know that your family likes to go all out each year, but I can’t quite put words to this.” 

But Miller just laughed. 

Barely an hour into scavenging the neighborhood for sweets, Fred’s feet were scraping the pavement and he began whining. He turned to Miller and motioned for her to pick him up, to which she said that he would be too big for this sort of thing soon enough. Lizzie was already passed out in her pram, so they all agreed to call it a night.

“He’s not too big yet,” Beth said as they all slowly made their way back to their respective houses. 

Tom pulled out his phone. “Mum?” He motioned toward his friend Billy’s house, several blocks away.

“Be sure to text me when you get there.” 

“Of course,” he said, turned on his heel and took off.

“That boy is getting too big, too. Chloe, aren’t you going out with friends tonight?” 

“Mum and I are watching scary movies and eating chocolate,” Chloe said, pushing the pram. 

“Sounds like fun!” Miller eyed Hardy who was suspiciously yawning more dramatically than normal and even feigned a stretch. “Lucy’s watching Freddy and Alec and me are going out to the Traders.” Hardy dropped his arms and groaned. 

“Work party?”

Miller peered over at Hardy who looked about as excited as a wet cat. “You could say that.” 

“Well, we won’t keep you. Let me know if you need me.” They said their goodbyes and Miller and Hardy turned toward Miller’s house. 

After Miller put Freddy down and appeared to call Lucy to come over, Hardy began to fear for the worst about that evening. It was rough enough that they had to parade around the neighborhood in that their silly costumes, but now he had to go out and be social, which was an activity that he was quick to admit did not come easily. 

Miller, now fresh out of her costume, came upon Hardy nervously pacing around the entry way, biting his lip, his brow furrowing.

“What is this about?” she asked. “Lucy’ll be here any minute. You should probably get out of that costume.”

Hardy looked down and noticed that he was still dressed in the hideous yellow getup. “Oh. Right.” 

Miller smiled at him but didn’t do anything else. Long-limbed, he traipsed upstairs and closed the door behind him before quickly undressing, tossing the wretched costume into the closet. Just in his pants and shirt, he sat on the edge of the bed and heaved out a languid sigh. Maybe he could eat several kilos of chocolate and force a heart attack upon himself? Or stand too close to the microwave? Was that a thing? He thought about grabbing the laptop and checking, when he heard a soft knock on the door.

“What?”

The door cracked open a few centimeters, and he could see the outline of Miller’s profile. “You don’t really want to go tonight, do you?”

He sighed and his head fell backwards, his neck straining. “Want an honest answer?”

He heard a few sounds on the other side, some rustling. He wondered if she was eating crisps behind the door. 

“Not really.”

“I figured.” More rustling. 

“Ellie, what are you doing?”

She cracked the door a bit further and told him to be quiet, so he didn’t wake Fred. Hardy leaned forward and noticed that she had changed into something, which looked quite dramatic.

“Is Lucy stopping by?” But Miller didn’t respond, and she wasn’t eating crisps or chocolate or anything, which was unusual for her given her proximity to so much chocolate. When she finally opened the door, he was slightly surprised, but perhaps more amused than anything else.

“In America, the girls apparently dress like this on Halloween. I’ve always wanted to try it, just for laughs. What do you think?” She turned around for him, modeling a cheaply made, incredibly risqué, almost too ridiculous Sherlock Holmes style Halloween costume. 

The skirt was too short, the jacket too small, and the pipe too phallic looking. She sashayed around the room and then walked toward Hardy, his eyes enlarging slightly. 

“I don’t think Holmes would be caught dead in that.”

“You twat,” she smacked him. 

“I like the hat.” 

Miller stood in front of him, hand on her hip. “What about the pipe?”

Hardy grabbed the bottom of her skirt, pulling him to her. “Definitely the pipe.” 

“You know my methods, Hardy,” she teased, suggestively pulling the pipe out of her mouth. 

Hardy ran his hands up and down her thighs, watching her torment him with that ridiculous toy pipe. 

“Of course I do, darling.” 

He carefully grabbed her and pulled her down onto the bed, both of them laughing. 

“Was this your plan all along?” He asked her, inching his hand further up her skirt. 

Her breath hitched, her laughter drained from her body and replaced with a moan, “Of course.” She kissed him, tugging at his lower lip with her teeth. “You’ve been a great sport, Hardy.” 

He laughed, drawing her to him and deduced Halloween wasn’t so bad after all. 


End file.
